


The Red Umbrella

by Persiflage



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Couch Sex, Crossdressing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Future Fic, Inappropriate Erections, Inspired by Art, Kissing in the Rain, Mentions of Phil Coulson/Ros Price, Naked Cuddling, Older Man/Younger Woman, On the Run, POV First Person, POV Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson's Sensitive Ears, Post-Series, Shower Sex, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, phil coulson has a big cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy tracks Phil down while he's hunting for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Umbrella

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrilliantlyHorrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by the art print in [this post](http://brilliantlyhorrid.tumblr.com/post/145871735938/the-red-umbrella-art-print-by-louijoverart) by brilliantlyhorrid, although I changed the outfit worn by the woman (mainly because I have a thing for Daisy in a suit!).

"Can I help?" you ask, and I look up in surprise as you smirk at me, a large red umbrella over your head against the heavy rain. I'm trying to shelter in the doorway of an empty store and had been wondering how I'd lost you.

"Daisy!" I hiss. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Phil," you say dryly, and I flush with embarrassment.

"Sorry," I whisper. "But what are you doing here? Anyone might see you."

"Relax, Phil," you say, your tone calm. "No one's going to recognise me." You beckon me to you.

I can't really argue – after all, I barely recognise you myself, and I know you. I duck under your umbrella, and you hook your arm through mine. 

"You look well," I tell you, because you do – your hair's been cropped very short and is a dark blonde; you're wearing a slate grey 3-piece suit under a long black trenchcoat, with a crisp white shirt and a black tie, and I realise with a mixture of embarrassment and shame that I'm aroused at the sight of you. I hope you won't notice, but fear that you will. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that I love you, and have been in love with you for a very long time (probably since the day we first met, if the truth's told) – but that doesn't make it any less embarrassing that I can feel my cock growing erect. I can only hope that the combination of my jeans and my mid-thigh length coat will suffice to hide my arousal from you.

You tilt the red umbrella above our heads, angling it towards the opposite side of the street, and I guess that my watcher is still lurking about. Your mouth approaches my ear, and I shudder with pleasure when your breath tickles the shell of my (ridiculously sensitive) ear. 

"You're looking pretty good yourself, Phil," you tell me, and reach up with your free hand to drag your palm down my unshaven cheek. 

I bite back a moan as your short fingernails drag through my scruff. "Daisy," I say, trying very hard not to let on to you how much pleasure I get from this gesture.

"It's okay, Phil," you whisper. "I know."

I pull my head back to look you in the eye. "What do you know?" I ask, surprised by how vulnerable I feel.

"Pretty much everything important," you say, and your hand slips under the hem of my coat to cup my rigid cock through my jeans.

"I'm so sorry, Daisy," I tell you, unable to meet your eyes as you find the proof of my wholly inappropriate arousal.

"Why're you sorry, Phil?" you ask, sounding genuinely confused. 

"I – It's – " I try to find a way to explain without humiliating you, or embarrassing myself too much.

"Phil." Your breath is hot against my ear, and I'd swear my cock hardens further. "You don't need to be sorry. You don't need to apologise. I'm flattered that you feel the same way."

"I – Wait – What?" I cut myself off to gape at you in disbelief.

You lean in, pressing your lips to my jaw and whisper. "I love you, Phil."

"Daisy," I say, and feel embarrassed all over again when I realise I'm on the verge of tears at your declaration.

"C'mon, Phil, what say we ditch your tail and find somewhere quiet to talk about this?"

"Yeah," I agree quickly. 

You walk us down the street at a brisk pace – not running, but not dawdling either. We nip around a corner into a narrower side street, and you close the umbrella, passing it to me, then smirk. "Hold on tight, Phil. You're going to like this."

Before I can ask you what you mean, you're guiding my arms around you, and then you hold your palms out flat to the ground, and a moment later we whiz upwards into the sky. I bite back a cry of shock, and you say, "Bend your knees, Phil" right in my ear. I obey, and we land on a rooftop about ten feet above the street just as my tail hurries into the side street we've just left. You wrap your right hand around my left, and we run across the rooftops, and I have to trust you to keep me safe – which really isn't that hard.

We're several blocks away when you finally stop running, and then you're kneeling down on the roof and lifting up a skylight.

"In you go, Phil," you say. "Don't worry, you'll have a soft landing."

I glance down and see a mattress spread out beneath the skylight, so I lower myself down through the skylight, bending my knees as I land, then toppling sideways as I lose my balance.

"Beware below," you call, and I look up in time to see you preparing to drop the furled umbrella through. I move aside, and after the umbrella hits, I grab it and step back as you drop through the skylight to land lightly on your feet.

You take the umbrella from me, and open it, then prop it in the corner of the attic room we're in.

"This way," you say, and grabbing my left hand, you lead me from the room and down a flight of stairs to a hallway with three doors opening off it.

"Where are we?" I ask.

"Safehouse," you respond.

I'm surprised, but allow you to lead me down another flight of stairs to the first floor where an open door shows the location of the kitchen. You're still holding my hand so I follow you along the hallway and into the welcoming warmth of the kitchen.

"Coffee?" you ask, stripping off the trench coat and hanging it on a hook just outside the kitchen door.

"Yes please," I agree quickly, and slip off my own coat, hanging it next to yours.

You busy yourself with the coffeemaker, and I can't help watching you as you prepare the coffee – you seem completely at ease as you work, and I find myself relaxing properly for the first time since you accosted me in the street with your red umbrella.

"You didn't say what you were doing in the street," I point out as you work.

You glance up and give me a shy look. "I wanted to see you," you say, and I can't help gaping at you.

"You did?" I ask.

You nod. "It's been nearly 9 months, Phil."

"I know," I whisper. 

Once the coffee's made, you set our mugs down on two coasters on the big table that dominates the middle of the room, then you step into my personal space, pressing your hand against my chest and pushing me back until I step back against the tall cabinet behind me. You press your whole body against mine, including your lips against my lips, and I eagerly open my mouth for your kiss.

I'm so distracted by your kisses that I don't notice when you unfasten my jeans - it's only when you insinuate your hand into my pants that I realise what's going on.

"Daisy," I groan, and you moan my name back at me.

"Please Phil," you beg, and I unfasten your pants, and slide my middle finger against your folds. You're already wet, so I slip my finger into your sex, and you shudder against me before biting down on my lip. Your hand is curled around my cock, but it's still, for which I'm grateful because otherwise I think I'd come. I add a second finger, thrusting them both carefully inside you, then twisting them around to find your G-spot, and you shudder and moan, pressing your body against mine as I fingerfuck you to a rapid climax.

You come with your face buried in the crook of my neck, and I find I'm breathing as heavily as you, even though you're only holding my cock with your fingers curled around the base.

"Phil," you say, your breath heavy on my neck. "Fuck." You push yourself away from me to look me in the eyes, and then you kiss me, so tenderly that I feel like weeping again, which is pretty embarrassing.

You pull your hand out of my jeans, then fasten them and my belt again. "We should talk before you fuck me," you say, and I swallow hard, then nod agreement. You fasten your own pants, then grab your coffee, before nodding for me to follow you.

We settle on the couch in the living room – the room's small, but seems cosy to me, but then I've always been hopelessly domestic. You take your shoes off, then pull your legs up onto the couch, tucking your feet under you in a gesture that's so achingly familiar I have to take a mouthful of coffee to distract myself.

"How long have you had this place?" I ask. It's been 8 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days since you left us, since I started following you the length and breadth of the country, hoping to at least provide back up for you if the ATCU or someone else gets too close, and I've missed you every single day, even on the days when I've seen you, usually at a distance through a pair of binoculars.

"A couple of months," you tell me. "I've got three safehouses – this one, one in New York, and one in LA."

I nod. I'm not surprised at the existence of this safehouse in Wisconsin: you're only a half hour drive from where Cal – now Dr Winslow – has his veterinary practice, and I know that thanks to you, Robin Hinton and her mother, Polly, also moved here just a couple of months ago.

"Have you seen much of Dr Winslow, and Robin and her mother?" I ask.

"Not as much as I'd like, but enough to know they're safe and don't need anything."

"Good." When you raise an eyebrow at the emphatic response, I elaborate. "I'm glad you've got some semblance of family," I tell you, "even if Dr Winslow doesn't know who you are."

You swallow and I see a sheen of moisture in your eyes. "I've missed you, Phil, and the rest of my SHIELD family."

I set my mug aside hastily, and shift towards you as tears begin to spill down your cheeks. You put your mug on the side table next to the couch, then move into my arms, and I hold you close as you weep into my chest. 

"It's okay, Daisy, it's okay," I murmur, rubbing my hand up and down your spine. "Cry all you want. You're allowed to cry."

Your sobs gradually ease off, and then you lean up and kiss me, your face still wet with your tears, but your mouth so hot and hungry that I can't help kissing you back. You grab my left hand and guide it to your breast over your vest.

"Touch me, Phil, please?"

I unbutton the vest rapidly, then your shirt, before sliding my hand inside your clothes to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple, which is already stiffening beneath the fabric of your bra. You struggle out of the suit jacket, then ditch the tie, before climbing on top of me, your hands busy with my belt and the button and zipper on my jeans, and I groan when you free my cock and slide your hand down its hard length. I abandon your breast, causing you to whine a little against my mouth, then unfasten your pants again, tugging them down off your hips just far enough that you can lift up to lower them down further down your legs before you straddle me and guide my cock inside your slick heat.

We both moan loudly – your sex is hot and wet and so tight that it's as if you've never been fucked before, and I feel my cock stretching you as I slide into you.

"So big, Phil," you mutter against my mouth, which I'll freely admit is a major ego boost. As you begin to ride me, kissing me almost savagely, I peel your vest off, then open your shirt the rest of the way, before unfastening your bra so that I can free your breasts. You moan even more loudly when I get both my hands on you at the same time, stroking the sides of your breasts with my fingertips, before rubbing the palms of my hands over your stiff nipples.

"Fuck, Phil." Your breathy moan as you come makes me drop my hands from your breasts to your hips as I snap my hips upwards and begin to thrust properly. Your left hand is clutching my shoulder, while your right holds onto the back of the couch as you match my movements with your own, and I can feel my orgasm approaching rapidly.

Then you drop your right hand between our bodies, and I gasp in surprise as I feel you vibrating the air over your clit and my cock as I continue to thrust up into you over and over.

"Daisy. Daisy. Daisy." My brain and mouth seem to be stuck in a loop of constant repetition of your name until you come a second time, your muscles tightening around me so forcefully that all movement of my cock is stilled until you relax a bit more, and then I move faster and harder until I'm finally coming too.

I'm gasping and panting as you allow yourself to flop against my chest, and my hands slide up your sides and curve around your back under your shirt. "Fuck, Daisy, that was incredible. Your powers – " I cut myself off, and kiss you instead.

"Good huh?" you ask when I finally release your mouth.

"Very good," I agree. Then I chuckle, earning myself a raised eyebrow. "Weren't we going to talk?"

You smirk for a moment, then your expression sobers again. "I love you, Phil. But I'm not coming back with you."

"I know," I whisper, and wrap my arms around you, cuddling you a bit desperately.

"I want to," you say, your voice muffled against my sweater. "But I don't."

"I know," I repeat, and you lift your head so we can look each other in the eye. "I want you to. I wish you would. But I know why you won't." I press my lips to your forehead. "But promise me you'll come back one day?"

"I promise you, Phil," you say, your dark eyes, always so expressive, seeming to overflow with emotion.

"And if you need any help – " I begin.

"I'll ask."

I nod, swallow, then say, "Do you want me to leave?"

You shake your head adamantly. "No." Then more softly, "Don't go just yet, please."

"I won't," I tell you immediately. "I'll stay as long as you want."

"Thank you." You press your lips briefly to mine, then say, "I need a shower."

I hold you steady as you lift your body off mine, then smirk when you grab my left hand and tug.

"Come with me," you say, and my smirk becomes a grin.

"You want me to share a shower with you?" I say, trying to sound doubtful, and you punch me lightly on the arm.

"Yes, dork."

You pick up your discarded clothing, and we make our way back upstairs where you lead me into the back bedroom, and we undress each other with lots of kisses and soft caresses, before you take my hand again and we move into the bathroom. It's clean and tidy, and there's a plentiful supply of towels on a shelf above the heater, and bottles of shampoo and shower gel stand on a little shelf within the shower unit itself.

I follow you in and close the door and you turn on the water, then turn towards me. "How long is it since you last did this, Phil?"

I wonder if you're thinking about Ros Price. I certainly wasn't – I'd momentarily forgotten that brief – I can't even call it an 'affair', not really. It was a one-night stand with two aborted attempts at dinner, the second of which had resulted in her being murdered in front of my eyes.

"Not since Audrey," I tell you, because Ros and I hadn't shared a shower together – only a few drinks, sex, and breakfast the following morning.

You shake your head at me. "Poor Phil," you say in a light tone. "You've been hanging out with the wrong women."

I chuckle. "Yeah, okay." I grab the bottle of shower gel, and shake it at you. "This first or do you want to do your hair first?"

"Hair," you say, taking the shower gel out of my hand and giving me the bottle of shampoo instead. You step directly under the water, and I run my hands through your cropped hair, and I can't help wishing it was long still, like when we first met. 

We take it in turns to wash each other's hair, and I'm startled by how relaxing it is having your hands working through my hair – I'd forgotten that aspect. After you've rinsed the shampoo from my hair, I grab the shower gel again and work it into your shoulders and back, then your breasts and stomach, before working my way down your legs. After you've rinsed off again, I kneel on the floor of the shower and press my mouth to your sex, and you moan loudly, your right hand lifting to clasp the back of my head.

"Yes," you hiss. "Phil."

I don't need to be asked twice – I simply draw my tongue up the length of your sex, before lapping at your clit, and you tighten your grip on the back of my head, pressing me forwards, and I take the hint, eating you out with enthusiasm. Your legs tremble and your muscles jump under your skin as my mouth works over you, then you thrust your sex against my face and I hold your legs tightly as you come hard, swearing and moaning my name repeatedly.

"Fuck, Phil," you gasp when I finally pull away and stand up. I'm about to wipe my face clean, but you grab my wrist and tug me closer, then kiss me, lapping at your juices on my mouth and chin. I groan loudly when you bite down on my bottom lip as you curl your hand around my rock hard cock.

"I need you inside me, Phil, please," you tell me in an urgent tone, so I turn you around to face the wall, and you plant your hands on the wall, then spread your legs a bit wider. I slide easily into you, and you reach back and clasp my right hip tightly as I begin to fuck you. It's been a long time since I've done this, too, I recall, and I am not really surprised that it's you I'm doing these things with.

"Fuck, Phil," you groan. "You're so hung. Why are you so fucking hung?"

I chuckle. "Luck of the draw, I guess."

"Lucky for me too," you say, and push your ass backwards against my crotch. I get the message, and pick up the pace until you come with a short, sharp scream, that's enough to set me off too.

You tug me against you as you collapse against the tiles of the shower unit, and I press myself against your body, savouring the sensation of wet skin on wet skin.

When my cock softens and slips from your body, you straighten up, then you turn around and back me up until I'm under the water again. You grab the shower gel and work up a good lather before soaping up my body. Your hands are careful and gentle, tender even, as you work the stuff into my skin.

Afterwards, when we're both dry again, we move back into your room, and you pull me down onto your bed, then snuggle up against me, your head on my shoulder.

"Can you stay tonight?" you ask.

"If that's what you want," I say immediately. "I'll stay however long you'll have me."

"Thank you." You kiss me tenderly on the mouth, then you rest your head back on my shoulder, your right arm stretched across my stomach. I've got my left arm around you, my hand pressed to the small of your back, and I can't help wishing we could always sleep like this.

"Nap, then dinner," you tell me, and I murmur an agreement.

As I slide into sleep, I can't help wondering what Mack would make of this development, or even May. (She'd probably say 'About damn time' knowing May. I don't plan on sharing this, though – at least, not until the Sokovia Accords are over with.) You shift against me, insinuating a leg between my thighs, and I stifle a moan, which becomes a hum of pleasure, and then I'm falling asleep, dreaming of my superhero girlfriend saving the whole world, and I smile.


End file.
